


Words of Love

by kookaburrito



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 10:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19424512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookaburrito/pseuds/kookaburrito
Summary: Crowley asks Aziraphale to talk dirty to him. Aziraphale does, in the only way he can.





	Words of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by someone's headcanon I read on Tumblr. I can't find it because suddenly I'm Good Omens trash and been reblogging stuff non-stop and my blog is swamped with Ineffable Husbands, but if you know the post I'm referring to, please send it to me so I can link the author of the idea!

Mostly they spend time in the small flat just above Aziraphale’s bookshop. The occasions when they go to Crowley’s apartment are rare. This, however, makes them memorable. Also, no matter how many times Aziraphale visits, the apartment sparks the angel’s curiosity.

Aziraphale’s curious, because the apartment is a reflection of Crowley in many ways. That is, dark and gloomy on the facade, but with unexpected, heart-warming quirks that make Aziraphale love his demon even more. 

He would lie if he said this modern design, the black walls, the lack of furniture doesn’t make his stomach flip a bit with the danger of it all. But then there are those details that breathe life into this space. There are plants, extremely beautiful and green, there is a telescope to look at the stars, there are bath bombs in the bathroom, there are designer soft lights in the bedroom that dim at will, there is a pan especially for crepes that Crowley puts to use in the mornings on those occasions when Aziraphael stays over. 

And of course, something that Aziraphale loves particularly, the bed. He loved the bed ever since the first time Crowley pushed him on top of it. It’s extremely comfy, with silk sheets and soft pillows, and Aziraphale just can’t help but smile at the fact that Crowley wanted a bed like this, because he also immensely enjoys those simple pleasures that the human body craves, which can only be enhanced with a bed like this. 

A couple of times a month Aziraphale lets himself be taken to bars and pubs, where Crowley likes to drink, and then they end up in the apartment. On such days, Crowley behaves like a demon, making sure to let everybody know how much of a badass he is, going as far as to miracle himself a few piercings here and there, a scar across his face and making a whole show out of smoking a cigarette, under Aziraphale’s amused gaze and silent judgement. He also behaves like he owns the angel, occasionally sliding a hand into the back pocket of Aziraphale’s pants and squeezing, or dragging him to the dance floor, or even ordering drink after drink loudly _for my angel_ , and Aziraphale would lie if he said that doesn’t turn him on at least a little bit.

This time is no exception.

There were drinks, eyeliner, and possessive touches, and driving through the deserted streets of London at an ungodly hour, there was fumbling with the keys at the apartment and Crowley’s grumbles when he couldn’t easily get rid of that leather jacket he miracled himself earlier. It’s not long until they’re both in bed, and Crowley is kissing down his neck, pushing Aziraphale down further on the pillows. Aziraphale holds on his hips, pressing his thumbs to the smooth skin there, enjoying himself very much for someone whose only job is to be innocent.

“Can I ask you to do something for me, angel?” Crowley breathes out in the midst of it all, sounding turned on and vulnerable.

“Sure, my dear, what would you like me to do?” Aziraphale reaches up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips. “Anything you want,” he whispers in Crowley’s ear, letting his hand wander further to Crowley’s ass, squeezing just barely, knowing full well that Crowley loves that.

“Talk dirty to me?” Crowley says with hope, and Aziraphale notices that he’s blushing. 

He shouldn’t get embarrassed, but they both know Aziraphale has had much more experience, with all those gentleman’s clubs, his collection of vintage erotica books, his indulgent curiosity for the pleasures of the flesh. 

Crowley has had his own share of experience, but to admit the whole truth, didn’t enjoy it much. Humans seemed too fragile and fleeting, while demons liked it rough and quick, liked to verbally abuse him and didn’t spend a whole lot of time on kissing or aftercare. Sure, it was great, but only until Aziraphale came around and showed him how _divine_ sex could feel, Crowley realized that, if needed, he would willingly spend another six thousand years waiting for this again. There was so much to discover, and Crowley couldn’t help but shyly put his fantasies out there, hoping that Aziraphale could take the lead and show him the way.

“Of course, my love,” Aziraphale beams at him, reassuringly, and strokes a hand through Crowley’s hair, feeling the softness and easing Crowley's tension. Then he pulls Crowley down for a kiss, which turns from slow and languid to insistent, feverish.

“Love what you do to me,” Aziraphale whispers between kisses, so soft against Crowley’s swollen, red lips. Crowley’s hips stutter at the praise, grinding down at Aziraphale, his hardness against the angel’s.

“You’re so good at this, at making me hard for you,” Aziraphale continues, gaze firmly locked on Crowley’s eyes, clouded by lust and desperation, “Can you feel it? How much I want you?”

Crowley reaches for Aziraphale’s vest, takes it off, and proceeds to kiss his chest, while Aziraphale softly moans, leaning his head back and giving himself up to the pleasure. Crowley directs his full attention to Aziraphale’s nipples, kissing and sucking them until they’re two swollen red peaks, then tentatively reaches down to palm Aziraphale’s hardness through his pants. He goes deliciously slow, then spends an eternity undoing his angel’s pants and shoving them down and away, then stroking him to full hardness.

Aziraphale can’t stand it, every moment of this slow hazy dance between them is hellish torture, and he loves it, just loves it, and wouldn’t give it away for anything.

“Be a darling, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, voice breathy with need as he bucks up into Crowley’s hand, “Don’t tease me so.”

Miracling Crowley into doing this would have been less efficient, as in a second he’s already reaching down and taking Aziraphale in his wet and hot mouth.

“God, yes, this feels so good,” Aziraphale breathes out, reaching his fingers in Crowley’s hair once again and softly tugging, “Don’t stop, never stop, honey.”

Each time it feels like the first time, each time he’s not prepared for this blessing, for Crowley’s serpent tongue, so skillful, exactly where it’s needed, licking and sucking, and his mouth enveloping the hardness, as if he’s a starving man, a desperate man stranded in the desert, and only Aziraphale can bless him with what he desires most. 

It’s hard to form coherent words at this point, but Aziraphale concentrates all of his might. He wants to give Crowley exactly what he wants tonight.

“You’re such a good boy, taking it all,” Aziraphale tugs at the hair, gently nudging Crowley in the right direction, making him moan around his length.

“That’s so good, you’re so good at this, my dear,” he praises, as Crowley laps at the head and down, helping himself with a hand, making Aziraphale shiver with pleasure.

“Love you taking me in your beautiful mouth, love it, take me, take me so good,” Aziraphale is pulling all of his might to stop himself from fucking into Crowley’s mouth, his hands play with Crowley’s hair, pull and tug absentmindedly, while all blood rushes south. Crowley’s other hand slides down to palm at Aziraphale’s ass, squeezing hard. 

Desperation fills the angel, while he cries out “Crowley, take me, need you inside me,” Aziraphale can’t help but push down, closer, he knows there’s no time for that, as he’s close, so deliciously close, but just feeling Crowley’s hand on his ass is enough to make him go wild. 

“Love being with you, you make me so hot for you, make me feel so good,” Aziraphale mutters half-coherently, as his hips stutter. “I’m close, so close, love,” he warns Crowley just barely, before riding out a wonderful orgasm, coming in Crowley’s mouth, filling him up.

Aziraphale has to lean back for a good few minutes, breathing heavily. When he finally gets up on an elbow, he feels Crowley’s arms, still wrapped around his hips, and sees tears rolling down his demon’s face. His beautiful black wings are there too, they always appear when Crowley experiences intense emotions. Aziraphale reaches down immediately.

“Oh, oh my, sorry! Did I hurt you? I kind of lost myself there, oh dear, come up, come here, love,” Aziraphale mutters, embarrassed. Usually he’s so attentive to his lovers, he should have considered Crowley might not like the pushing around, the hair-tugging, might want some reciprocity.

“No, angel- You’re… Perfect,” Crowley says, reaching upwards, and hiding his head between his angel’s neck and shoulder. He sniffles, trying to be quiet, but failing miserably.

“Why are you crying, my dear?” Aziraphale tries to seek out Crowley’s gaze, but he’s hiding away, “Please, tell me what is wrong.”

“When I asked you… You did… But then… Never before...” Crowley manages, breathing heavily between words, as if saying them out loud is physically painful.

“Never?” Aziraphale whispers, puzzled, while stroking down Crowley’s back, giving him soft touches at the base of his fluttering wings.

“Let’s just say… Demon dirty talk is not like that,” Crowley says, brokenly.

“What is it like, then?” Aziraphale asks softly.

“It’s rough… Cruel. Just, swearing mostly,” Crowley says, shrugging, wiping at his tears furiously.

“Oh, I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, I suppose I could...” Aziraphale furrows his eyebrows, prepared to apologize again and make amends, but Crowley lifts his head up, golden eyes watching him closely.

“No, just… No one’s ever… Angel,” he whispers, barely audible, stroking gently his angel’s face, leaving a soft kiss on his jaw.

Aziraphale hugs him close, pressing himself into Crowley’s shivering body, burying his face in those dark feathers.

In that moment, he feels an intense wave of love almost drowning him. He smiles, overwhelmed with emotions.

“I love you too, my dear, my good boy,” Aziraphale can’t help but whisper, and feels Crowley relax on top of him, feathers gently enveloping him closer.  



End file.
